


In The Cruel Northern Mist

by bexchan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Secret Relationship, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24492586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexchan/pseuds/bexchan
Summary: Eight years after the Battle of Hogwarts and the war rages on. With three new Horcruxes to destroy and conflict among the Order members, Hermione is desperate to end the war. So desperate that she will seek the help of a reluctant Death Eater. In the cruel northern mist, their clandestine meetings become much more than they were supposed to. Dramione. EWE. War fic.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 70
Kudos: 239





	1. Monotony

**Author's Note:**

> A/n: Well, apparently I’m writing another one! This will be a multi-chap war fic. There is more information below about the time and setting. As always, I owe a huge thank you to the wonderful Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!
> 
> Song rec for this chapter: Sleeping at Last – Bright and Early 
> 
> Details: This is set 8 years after the Battle of Hogwarts, with Voldemort and the majority of theDeath Eaters retreating after Nagini, the final Horcrux, is killed by Neville. All the events leading up until that moment in Deathly Hallows (including Harry no longer being a Horcrux and the destruction of the Horcruxes) still happened, but the events after (such asBellatrix’s and Voldemort’s deaths) did not. The war is ongoing and has left Great Britain, both Muggle and Magical, in tatters. Other plot points, such as the Elder Wand and post-Battle of Hogwarts deaths, will be explained in the fic. This fic also ignores the events of The Cursed Child. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> TW: There will be references to rape, sexual assault, and violence in various chapters, not linked to the main pairing (dramione) but other main characters. I will out TWs at the beginning of chapters to which these apply.

In the Cruel, Northern Mist  
~.~  
Chapter 1: Monotony  
.  
The familiar creaks and groans of the caravan began to rouse her, and a vigorous blast of wind rattled the flimsy walls, creating a loud, scraping metallic sound that was impossible to sleep through. With a resigned huff, Hermione pushed her bushy hair out of her eyes and stretched her arms high above her head. Outside, the grating squawks of the seagulls served as a final, shrieking alarm and she arched her back to ease her stiff spine. But she had misjudged how close to the edge of the small bed she was, and she tumbled off it, falling into the tower of books at its side. 

Landing on her backside in a tangled cluster of tattered blankets and books, she groaned into the back of her hand. Yes, she had volunteered to take one of the single-berth caravans with a tiny single bed, but she should have probably considered how much space her books would take up. Yanking herself up to her feet, she tiptoed around the clutter, grabbing her wand from atop another precarious tower of books and waving it over the mess until everything had returned to its original place. 

Changing into some clothes (a pair of a jeans and a thick, brown, battered jumper), she pushed open the caravan door and was instantly greeted by a strong, salty wind and the grey sea. The waves were high and wild today, typical of January, but she quite liked them like this. After eighteen months of living at the caravan park with the rest of the Order, she found that when the sea was blue and settled, it made her uneasy. 

They had found Penlan Y Mor caravan park in August of last year, hidden away on the west coast of Wales between two small towns: New Quay and Aberaeron. It was tucked behind some hills, away from the main road or any real civilisation. After losing a battle to the Death Eaters at their old base, a large bed and breakfast just outside of Derby, they had been forced to relocate, and Dennis Creevey had suggested west Wales, as he knew the area from a few holidays with his family. 

It was a small caravan park with only about fifty static caravans, and it was adjacent to a large farmhouse that Hermione assumed the owners had once lived in, although it had been abandoned long before they arrived. Beside the farmhouse was a set of stables and a couple of barns that they had concerted into living quarters, providing plenty of space for the Order’s 147 members. Close to the sea, near enough to a couple of towns but with enough space and privacy, it had been the ideal hideaway so far, and Hermione liked how it reminded her of some childhood holidays of her own. 

There was little joy to be found in the world at the moment, but a small wave nostalgia sometimes gave her a momentary sense of warmth, like a secure embrace.  
She was staring out at the tempestuous sea and dark, heavy clouds when the door of one of the larger caravans about ten metres away opened, and she smiled as Ron staggered out, cursing under his breath and wearing his jumper inside out. 

“Good morning!” she called.

“Yeah, good bloody morning,” he grumbled, making his way towards her. 

“Did the seagulls wake you?”

“I learned how to sleep through them years ago. No, try a two-month-old with a scream like a mandrake.”

Hermione’s smile widened. “Well, that’s what babies do, Ron.”

“I know, but Hugo is something else,” he sighed, scratching the back of his head and smothering a yawn. “Come on, I need some tea or I’ll fall asleep at the meeting.”

“What about Katie?”

“She’s settling Hugo. Don’t look at me like that, Hermione, it’s her turn.” 

They headed for the farmhouse, keeping their voices hushed as they seemed to be the only ones who had stirred. Only the dogs were alert; there were twenty or so strays that had been adopted by the various members of the Order over the past eight years, and Hermione paused to pet a few on the way. Glancing around, she made a mental note to check the wards and cast a few Mending Charms on the tired, rust-eaten caravans after the meeting in the house.

The five-bedroom farmhouse itself had become the communal area of their camp, housing most of the resources, including drinking water, food, and magical items that they had managed to collect over the years. For the most part, people prepared their own meals in their caravans, but every now and then, small groups would gather around the long dining room table, as though it was a makeshift cafe. The large living room was also were they conducted their meetings. 

On the upper floor, Harry, Ginny, and their two-year-old, James, lived on one side, using three of the bedrooms and Kingsley lived on the other side, using the other two bedrooms, although Hermione knew that Kingsley sometimes slept in one of the small caravans when James was having a restless night. 

“We’ll need to go shopping again soon,” mumbled Ron, perusing the cupboards. “We’ve only got enough for a few more days and we’ve already used the Doubling Charm so we’re pushing it with the expiration dates.”

“I think that’s what the meeting is about today,” said Hermione.“I reckon we should try Aberporth again. I was reading one of the tourist guides and there were a few shops we missed, and it’s not too far.”

Ron nodded with agreement. “I don’t like when we go to big towns and cities. That place we went last time felt sketchy. What was it called again?”

“Llanelli.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to even bother trying to pronounce that properly.”

Hermione giggled and prepared two cups of tea. “I could do with a change of scenery, though. Our last shopping trip was over a month ago. Really, I could do with a trip to Hogwarts for more books.”

Ron scoffed. “It’s way too dangerous at the moment, you know that. You can’t have finished all the ones you got in November already. You got about sixty books!”

“I know, but some of them weren’t relevant to Horcruxes.”

“You’re telling me you haven’t found anything useful in them?”

“No, I did find some useful things,” she explained. “Bathilda Bagshot wrote a book on the Gaunt family, and there were some possible family artifacts that You-Know-Who might have used aside from the ring. I also found some old transcript where someone alleged they were Salazar Slytherin’s love-child and they had been gifted his wand upon his death.” 

Ron tilted his head and sipped his tea. “Sounds pretty promising to me.”

“It’s all just theories, though. I need something concrete.” She hesitated and sighed. “It’s been eight years.” 

“Yeah, but don’t do that to yourself, Hermione. Those first three years, we barely had a chance to sleep, let alone read and research. We were so busy fighting and trying to evacuate the Muggles. Everyone knows you’re trying your hardest. It’s not like the rest of us would have a bloody clue.”

“I just thought it would all be over by now.”

“I’m sure it will be soon,” said a new voice. 

Both Hermione and Ron turned to greet Ginny, who was clad in a pair of loose pyjamas and a grey once-white robe. James was perched on her hip, groggily rubbing his eyes with a scrunched up fist and toying with a lock of Ginny’s long red hair with his other hand. 

“Good morning, Gin,” smiled Hermione. “Tea?”

“Yes,” she replied. “A large one, preferably. I didn’t get enough sleep.”

“Tell me about it,” said Ron, gulping down his tea. “Bloody kids, right?”

“No, it wasn’t James, it was Harry. He and Kingsley were up late talking about this bloody meeting today. Merlin forbid either of them cast a Silencing Charm on the room. I was going to cast a Muffliato on myself, but I need to be able to hear James. It was a proper pain in the arse.” 

“What time did they stop talking?” asked Ron. 

“Not until about two in the morning,” said Ginny, frowning. “And it was more like arguing.”

“Arguing?” repeated Hermione, passing her friend a mug of tea. “That’s not like them.” 

“They’ve had a couple of squabbles recently.”

“About what?” asked Ron.

“Mainly about the war,” said Ginny. “Shacklebolt doesn’t think we’re ready for a confrontation with the Death Eaters to try and get more information about the Horcruxes, but Harry thinks we should.”

Ron tilted his head with consideration. “I guess it has been a while. It’s been, what, five months?”

“Yes, but we are nowhere near ready,” said Hermione. “Look what happened last time, and Luna, Bill, and McGonagall still haven’t fully recovered.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Oh, don’t you two start,” snapped Ginny. “This is exactly what they’ve been bickering about. You can chat about it all in the meeting this afternoon.” 

Ron shrugged and held out his arms to hold James, cooing at him in a high-pitched voice and trying to get him to say who his favourite uncle was, but Hermione rubbed her lips together pensively and stayed silent. Something uncomfortable was tugging at her stomach. Ron was right; they had been inactive for nearly five months now, but their last battle with the Death Eaters at Little Hangleton had been disastrous. They had lost four Order members. Four friends. Penelope Clearwater, Ernie Macmillan, Seamus Finnegan, and Professor Trelawney; all killed in bursts of violent green light. 

In the past two years alone they had lost twelve people, including Hagrid, Molly, Madam Pomfrey, and Oliver Wood. The Death Eaters, on the other hand, had only lost four members in two years: three had been Obliviated and killed by Voldemort himself when their usefulness expired and Yaxley had been killed in a building collapse.  
And all of these deaths and battles hinged on one thing: finding the Horcruxes. 

After Neville sliced off Nagini’s head and Voldemort retreated from Hogwarts, the Order had attempted to track him down multiple times to finalise the victory, but they had been unsuccessful. It was only sixth months after the Battle of Hogwarts, when Blaise Zabini defected and turned up at Grimmauld Place with information and a heavy conscience, that they realised the battle was far from over. 

After using some Veritaserum and Legilimency to confirm his intentions and loyalties, Blaise told the Order that Voldemort had created three new Horcruxes, and while he didn’t know what they were, he knew that Voldemort had visited Little Hangleton, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, Chester, and somewhere in the Pennines in the months after the Battle. Since then, the Order had travelled back and forth to those places, hunting for clues about what the new Horcruxes could be, and although Hermione had made some progress, it wasn’t enough. 

It would never be enough until all of this was over. 

Xxx

With forty of the Order’s 147 members huddled in the meeting room, Harry and Kingsley sat at the head of the table while Hermione sat between McGonagall and Ron at Harry’s right side, as they always did. Others in the room included Fred, Arthur, Bill, Fleur, Blaise, Flitwick, Slughorn, Neville, Luna, and Ginny, to name a few, and they all chatted amongst themselves, waiting for Harry to call the beginning of the meeting whilst a few late arrivals filtered into the room. 

“How are you feeling?” Hermione asked McGonagall. 

“Oh, fine, my dear,” she replied. “Almost as good as new, which is a relief. Saying I had a broken hip made me feel so old.” 

“If we’d been able to brew any Skele-Gro it would have been a lot faster.”

“It’s no worry. Don’t tell the others, but I quite enjoyed being fussed over for a couple of months.” 

Hermione chuckled just as Lee Jordan entered the room, and then Harry knocked on the table a couple of times and hushed the room, waiting for silence. A palpable silence engulfed the room, and it was only then that Hermione noticed how tense Kingsley looked. His shoulders were stiff and his eyes were sullen with dark shadows beneath but, most notably, he was leaning away from Harry. 

“Afternoon, everyone,” greeted Harry with a nervous grin. “Um...I’ve asked for a meeting today because we need to have a chat about what our next move is going to be. Kingsley and I have been chatting, and we’ve been unable to reach an agreement, so we decided to see what you guys think.”

“This may require multiple discussions,” added Kingsley. “We shouldn’t be rushing this decision or taking it lightly.”

A flicker of impatience flashed in Harry’s green eyes. “Kingsley and I have been...chatting about this for a few days and we’ve been unable to decide whether or not we should attempt another search of Little Hangleton.”

Hermione could practically feel the sense of dread descend upon the room, and she glanced around the table, studying the others’ expressions. Some seemed intrigued, while others seemed anxious just hearing the suggestion.

“Why Little Hangleton?” asked Blaise quickly. “We’ve tried there a few times already and we know the Death Eaters have set up intruder charms. Why not try the Pennines again? We didn’t really do a thorough search up there.”

“He might have a point,” agreed Hermione. “What about Chetster? We know that Salazar Slytherin was raised in a little village near there. He could have found some of Slytherin’s other artefacts.”

“Ugh, Slytherin,” grumbled Ron, but then he flinched with embarrassment. “No offence Blaise and Slughorn...Oh, and you, Andromeda.” Tracey Davis cleared her throat and Ron’s cheeks reddened. “Crap, sorry. Old habits and all that. But going to Chester isn’t a bad idea.”

There was a low mumble of agreement, but Harry shook his head and raised his voice. “I just think the fact that they set up intruder charms in Little Hangleton means there must be something there.”

“So, you’re basically asking us to battle against the Death Eaters again?” asked George bluntly.

“Well, we don’t know if the intruder charms are definitely still active there,” said Harry. “It’s been a few months-”

“And the last time we went there, we got battered,” said Blaise, his eyes dark and flashing over to Luna for a moment. “I’m telling you, the intruder charms will still be there. The Taboo on his name has been active for almost six years now, so why would he remove the intruder charms?”

“Four people died last time we went there,” muttered Luna with a sigh. “I was nearly killed.”

“But you weren’t,” said Harry gently. “You made it back home and-”

“But we don’t even know how she made it home,” interrupted Blaise, subtly glancing at Luna. “She had that memory wiped, just like Dean Thomas did the year before, and we haven’t got a bloody clue why.”

“I still think it’s possible we have an ally on the inside,” suggested Hermione. 

“Or perhaps it’s all part of some plan they have,” argued George. 

“No, I checked them both thoroughly. I would have found any spells or curses.” 

“Of course you would have, Hermione,” said Luna, smiling softly at her. “I’m sorry, Harry, I just don’t know if it’s a good idea to go back there.”

“It’s a suicidal idea,” grumbled Blaise. “We would be ambushed, and even though we slightly outnumber them at the moment, they would have the advantage-”

“Then how else would you propose we make progress?” snapped Harry, frowning at Blaise. “I’m telling you, I know something is there! They must be protecting something and we have done nothing for months!”

“Harry does have a point,” said Ron. “We need to be doing more otherwise we’re never going to win.”

“I agree,” said Neville, nodding his head vigorously. 

“Yeah, I think we should go,” said Dean. “All we’re doing at the moment is surviving.”

“Some would say surviving is enough,” whispered Andromeda. 

“But we’re at war,” said Harry firmly. “And if they do ambush us, then we just use the Portkey rings Hermione made.”

Hermione glanced down at the ring crowning her index finger. She had invented the item three years ago and all of the Order members wore one. Each was specifically charmed to their owner and worked in a very similar way to a Portkey, except this one would have to be pinched to be activated rather than simply touched, and it only responded to its owner. Anyone else touching it or touching a person who was wearing it would not be transported, and she had spent over a year perfecting the rings, ensuring there was no possible way the Death Eaters could discern their destination or how they had been created. 

“Most of us had the rings last time,” said Shacklebolt. “We still lost people.” 

“But we won’t this time,” argued Harry vehemently. “At the first sign of danger, we come back home.”

“I think Luna, McGonagall, and Bill should stay home,” said Ginny. “They’re not fully healed.”

“I agree with that,” nodded Fleur, holding her husband’s hand. “But I do think we should be doing something. It’s certain they have been attacking more Muggle towns and villages.”

“They have,” said Harry. “Kingsley spoke to our contact at the Muggle parliament today and two more towns in Norfolk have been destroyed. Most of the county was evacuated a couple of years ago, but there were about twenty casualties.”

“Well then we’ve got to fight, haven’t we?” stated Neville, his tone determined. 

“Shouldn’t we be sending a small group to see if there are any survivors in Norfolk?” asked McGonagall. “We could help them get to the Muggle evacuation zone in Dover.” 

“When I said destroyed, I mean completely destroyed,” replied Harry. “It’s all gone, McGonagall.” 

“Well, then we ought to be doing something,” said Neville. “Harry’s not asking us to fight. He’s asking us to search Little Hangleton. It might be a risk, but there’s always a risk.”

“It’s too high a risk,” said Blaise. 

“Could we not send out a scout or something to inspect it first?” asked Hermione. 

“That sounds like a sensible idea,” said McGonagall. 

“It might alert them, like when we sent George up to Durham,” replied Harry. “They turned up twenty minutes after he said it was clear, remember?”

“Yeah, that seems just as risky,” said Dean. “We might as well just go together.”

“Like Harry said, we can always use the Portkeys,” said Neville. “I think we should go.” 

A heavy, brooding silence swallowed the room for a moment, and Hermione shifted in her seat, catching Luna’s sad eyes. Hermione wasn’t sure how she really felt about Harry’s idea herself. Of course she wanted the Order to make progress, but just the mere mention of Little Hangleton made her stomach flip, and she believed Blaise was correct about the intruder charms. It all just seemed too much of a gamble for one of Harry’s hunches, even if they had been correct before. 

“We should vote on it,” said Harry suddenly. “That’s the only way we’ll reach a decision-” 

“Hold on,” interjected Shacklebolt. “We said we could spend a couple of meeting discussing this.” 

“Harry’s told us everything we need to know, though,” said Dean. “A vote seems fair.” 

“Yes, that seems fair,” agreed Fleur. 

“Okay,” said Harry, rising to his feet. “All those in favour of going to Little Hangleton, lift your hands.” 

Hermione held her breath and scanned the room quickly, counting the raised hands. There were twenty-four. Her own hands were braced in front of her on the table, and she lowered her eyes, ignoring the disappointed glance from Harry. Instead, she shared a few concerned looks with the other opposers, including McGonagall, Luna, Shacklebolt, and Blaise. Their expressions were morose, their brows wrinkled with premature worry and their mouths tight with more unvoiced protestations. 

“Twenty-four,” announced Harry, nodding with satisfaction. “We’ll ask the others, of course, but it looks like we’re settled.”

Xxx

That evening, a couple of hours after the sun had sunk behind the horizon and stars were blinking in the sky like cats’ eyes, Hermione was sat on a brittle log beside a dying campfire. This spot had once been a little picnic area overlooking the beach, but they tended to use it now for barbeques in the summer or as a little park for the children. With her sat Luna, who had been staring silently into the flames for the past few minutes, her grey eyes still dull despite the fire’s reflection in them.

“Are you okay, Luna?” asked Hermione. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” she replied absently. “I know this sounds awful, but I’m glad I won’t have to go back there. I just wish no one did.”

“It will be fine.”

“I’m not so sure it will be.”

“Me neither,” said a new voice, and both of the witches turned as Blaise emerged from the darkness and sat down on the log beside Luna. “That was a big shit-show today.”

“I thought you argued it well, though,” said Luna quietly.

“Didn’t make much difference in the end,” he grumbled. “They just finished asking the others and we’re definitely going.” 

Luna exhaled heavily and massaged her brow. “I think I might head to bed. The fire is hurting my eyes.”

“Do you want me to walk you?” asked Blaise. 

She simply shook her head, her blonde hair falling out of her loose ponytail as she headed toward her caravan, muttering a barely audible, “Goodnight.”

“You know, you could ask her out,” suggested Hermione once her friend was out of earshot. 

Blaise gestured to the space around them. “Ask her out where? The fucking barn?”

“You know what I mean. I know you like her. Hell, everyone knows. She likes you, too.”

“No, she used to. Not anymore. Not since she was captured. She’s...darker now.”

Hermione grimaced at the truth in his comment. “She’s still recovering. Give her time.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied. “Despite Potter’s rash decision today.”

“Luna was right; you did argue your case very well.”

“Thanks for backing me up, Granger. I can’t bloody believe they’re going back after what happened last time.”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “What can you do? We took a vote. It was all fair.”

Blaise scoffed. “Yes, but democracy only works when the majority aren’t stupid.”

“They’re not stupid. They’re just desperate.”

“That’s the same thing during war.” 

“Did you just call my husband stupid?” asked Ginny, appearing from the shadows, her red hair catching the flames and illuminating her face, as she smiled playfully. “Only I’m allowed to call Harry stupid.” 

“I noticed you didn’t raise your hand,” said Blaise. 

“It’s a wife’s prerogative to disagree with her husband sometimes. To be honest I was undecided, so I didn’t think it was fair for me to vote for going.” 

“I’m sure Harry loved that,” remarked Hermione.

“Well, he’s having a bit of a strop, but he’ll calm down. I thought I heard Luna’s voice here earlier.”

“She went to bed,” explained Blaise. 

“Ah, are you pissed off because she didn’t invite you?” teased Ginny, grinning broadly.

Blaise rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “Right, goodnight, you two.”

“Oh come on, Zabini, I was only joking.” 

“Sod off, Weasley,” he retorted, heading away from them.

“I’m a Potter now!”

“That’s bloody worse!”

Both Hermione and Ginny laughed as he disappeared and Ginny scooted closer to Hermione, wrapping her arms around her friend’s shoulders. The two witches had grown so much closer over the last few years and often sat here, nattering away about Harry and Ron’s silly moments, or sometimes losing themselves in nostalgic conversations about Hogwarts or Christmas at the Burrow. Sometimes they wept on each others’ shoulders about lost friends, or Molly, or simply because their reality was so very cruel at the moment. But they also laughed, and those were the moments that eased Hermione’s troubled mind.

“I guess that’s two men I’ve pissed off today,” chuckled Ginny. “I’m on a roll!” 

“Oh, bless him, he looked so embarrassed,” said Hermione, stifling her own giggles. “It really isn’t his day.” 

“No, but then all three of us didn’t get our way today, I suppose. Harry said he was hoping to search Little Hangleton as early as next week.”

All the humour drained away from Hermione’s face. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this one, Gin. It all feels very...rushed.” 

“It will be okay,” said Ginny. “We are more prepared than last time, and your rings are a lifesaver.”

Hermione looked away from her friend and gazed out at the lonely moon, hanging suspended in the navy sky like a pendulum. She sighed heavily and hugged Ginny a little tighter. “I hope you’re right, Gin.”

Xxx


	2. Psychology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/n: As always, I owe a huge thank you to the wonderful Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!
> 
> Song rec for this chapter: Fleurie - Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: As always, I owe a huge thank you to the wonderful Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!
> 
> Song rec for this chapter: Fleurie - Soldier

In the Cruel Northern Mist

~.~

Chapter 2: Psychology

.

In the very early hours of the morning, Hermione yawned as she moved around the edge of the protection wards guarding the caravan park in the small forest. The night was crawling its way toward two o'clock in the morning, and she and Flitwick had finished casting a new set of protective enchantments, as they always did before the group was preparing to leave base. They had completed the task at least a hundred times in the last eight years and always adhered to the same routine, but it seemed to take them longer when it was in preparation for battle. They would each complete a semi-circle, about a two mile radius around their base, and then check the others' work, scanning for any weaknesses or errors.

The camp had the necessary layers of protection: Intruder Charms, Caterwauling Charms, Disillusionment Charms, Protego Horribilis, and every other protective enchantment they knew between them. It was tiresome and laborious work, but Hermione knew how essential it was. If an Order member lost their ring and Apparated in a panic with a Death Eater attached, a single fissure in their wards could expose their home to the enemy.

Beside her walked Fable, a Clumber Spaniel she had rescued four years ago from a derelict hotel in Hereford, and who'd been blindly loyal to her ever since. His fur was lightly coiled like a baby's wispy curls, all white except for his ears and nose, which were a soft copper colour. Crookshanks, her cat-Kneazle cross, had naturally been agitated by the canine companion and had initially hissed if Fable dared to glance in his direction. But, after a year, they had developed a quiet tolerance of each other, although Crooks was still the only one allowed on her bed. Finally, Hermione could see Flitwick in the darkness, waving his wand to check the final few meters, and Fable darted forward to excitedly greet her old professor.

"Did you find any issues with my half?" asked Flitwick, doing his best to keep Fable settled despite being of a similar height. Evidently, Fable loved being able to lick someone's face without having to jump up or tackle them to the ground.

"Fable, sit," commanded Hermione. "No, all were sound and stable. Did mine have any problems?"

"No, perfect as always," he replied, smiling and withdrawing his pocket watch. "We did well for time. It's exactly two o'clock. I might try and get a couple hours of sleep before we go to Little Hangleton. You look tired, Hermione. Perhaps you should do the same."

"No, I'm not good at napping. I think I'll check that everything's okay in the medical bay and the crèche."

"Okay, but conserve your energy. You never were very good at restraint, Hermione."

With a swish of his wand, Flitwick Apparated back to the caravan park, and the snap of the spell ricocheted around the trees, rustling the leaves. Summoning Fable to her side, she headed back toward camp, slowly strolling and grazing her fingers against the rough bark of the tree trunks. Tilting her eyes upward, she peered through the canopy of skeletal leaves and branches as they swayed in the wind and scanned the navy sky, lingering on constellations and mumbling the names of stars to nobody.

Long before Hogwarts, her father had bought her a beginner's telescope, and her fascination with the universe and all it contained had been born. She remembered those moments with her father with a hollow pang in her chest now; even after eight years, her throat would tighten with despair as she wondered about her parent's lives in Australia. Apparently, Fable could sense her melancholy, and he nuzzled his nose into the palm of her hand as they approached the farmhouse.

Hermione left Fable outside as she walked into the meeting room, where the atmosphere was busy but quiet as approximately twenty of the Order members worked on transforming it into a makeshift medical bay. Chairs were being transfigured into beds and potions were being brewed with what scant ingredients they had, all in preparation for the worst possible scenario.

"Hey, Hermione!" greeted Ron, moving some mattresses with Hannah Abbott and Terry Boot. "You can't be done with the wards already?"

"Yes, all done," she replied. "Can I do anything here?"

"I think we're okay, actually," he said, walking over to her. "Harry said we should only do this room. He said there's no point in doing the dining room, too."

Hermione's lips pursed. "He seems very confident we won't run into trouble."

"Well, we've done up a few extra beds, just in case."

"That was probably a good idea."

"Shacklebolt suggested it," he said, slumping his shoulders and sighing. "I always hate this bit; all the preparation for the worst outcome. Just feels like tempting fate sometimes."

Hermione hesitated and tilted her head, studying her old friend closely. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," he answered promptly. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's your first time away from the camp since Hugo was born. I know Ginny found it very hard, which is understandable, of course."

Ron frowned and lowered his eyes, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I can't really complain, can I? Katie's not going as she's still recovering from the birth, so she will be here with him."

"That didn't really answer the question."

"Well, yes, it's shit. But I do think Harry is right. We're not going for a battle, so I'm sure everything will be fine. What about you?"

"Oh, you know me," she said, forcing a smile. "Over-thinking everything and feeling a bit anxious, but I'm sure you're right. We have the rings, just in case. Who's on duty in the medical bay tonight?"

"Just Luna, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Sinistra as far as I know," replied Ron, gesturing to the latter two, who were chatting amiably at the other end of the room as they helped to organise the potions. "Luna was with them, but I'm not sure where she's gone."

"She's probably just grabbing a cup of tea or something. You know, you need to stop calling them 'Professor'. They haven't been our teachers for a quite a while, and you're twenty-six."

"I know, but it still feels bloody weird. I think I'd probably still shit myself if McGonagall gave me one of her looks."

Hermione's chuckle was loud in contrast to the hushed tone of the room, but nobody seemed to mind. "You...you are so silly," she stuttered between giggles. "Are you sure you don't need any help from me?"

"No, we're fine. We've got a couple more hours before we head to Little Hangleton. You could go and check on the crèche if you're eager to do something. Ginny is there, I think."

"Okay. Don't forget we're leaving at five. And don't go back to bed because you will definitely oversleep."

"Yes, Professor!" he retorted mockingly. "You sound like McGonagall sometimes, you know."

"I take that as a compliment," she replied over her shoulder and she left the room.

In exactly the same way that they would create a medical bay prior to a mission, they would also create a crèche in one of the unused stables. They had learned the hard way several years ago that it was best to keep the children away from the main camp and, particularly, the medical bay. Teddy Tonks and Victoire Weasley had been but toddlers when they first witnessed the graphic and brutal horrors of war. After injured Order members Apparated directly into their old base in Derby, some choking on their own blood and a couple missing limbs, it had taken weeks for the two children to sleep without being plagued by nightmares.

She could still remember Teddy's wild, terrified screams waking her in the early hours of the morning despite him sharing a room with his Grandmother, Andromeda, on the other side of the base. There was something infinitely haunting about the feral cries of a traumatised child, and Hermione never wanted to hear those sounds again.

The crèche was simply a space where the children would be supervised and kept away from anything disturbing. When she walked into the stable, the room was already set up with four cots and two small beds. Charmed with picturesque and fantastical scenery, the walls were alive with flying dragons, cantering unicorns, and enormous oak trees that swayed in an invisible breeze. Andromeda decorated the crèche with the beautiful, moving images each time, creating a sanctuary of imagination and wonder, and Hermione sometimes suspected that Andromeda cast the charms for her own sake as much as the children's.

The candles were dimmed, the room was tranquil, and Katie was sat near the cots, glancing at Hermione with a warm smile as she organised bottles and nappies. Victoire and Teddy were tucked up in their beds, and Bill sat on a small stool beside his six-year-old daughter, gently stroking her hair as her eyes fluttered, futilely fighting sleep. Andromeda sat close to Teddy, grinning fondly down at her grandson as he snored softly, his mouth wide open with a small ribbon of drool leaking out.

Lying in the four cots were Hugo, Katie and Ron's son; Henry, Roger Davies and Cho Chang's one-year old son; Sydney, Alicia Spinnet and Lee Jordan's eight-month-old daughter; and, finally, James, Harry and Ginny's two-year-old son. Hugo, Henry, and Sydney appeared to be snoozing soundly in their cots, but Hermione could see Ginny was struggling to settle James as he squirmed and sniffled, his small chubby arms reaching out for his mother.

"He seems restless," whispered Hermione as she neared her friend.

"He just won't sleep," replied Ginny with a sigh. "It's like he knows that we're leaving him. It's like he's learned the routine of it. What the hell do I do?"

"Don't ask me, Gin. I have no idea. Why don't you just stay home for this one?"

"No, I'm not staying here. Alicia, Cho, and Fleur are going. Like Mum used to say, mothers have more reason to fight than men."

Hermione noted the way her friend's voice hitched when she mentioned Molly. "But we're not going to fight, Ginny. This is just a reconnaissance task."

"They're all just different parts of the same war," said Ginny, lifting James out of the cot and cradling him. "Don't worry, Hermione. Once he's sleeping, I'll be fine. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were doing the wards."

"Flitwick and I finished, so I came to see if there was anything else I could do."

"You should get some sleep."

"No, I'd rather stay active. Actually, have you seen Luna?" asked Hermione."I went to the medical bay and Ron said she was on medic duty."

Ginny narrowed her eyes with concern. "I thought she was on duty in here. She shouldn't be in the medical bay after what happened to her. She'd not ready."

"I know, I thought I'd have a word and make sure she's okay. I'll try her caravan."

Leaving the crèche, Hermione made her way toward the caravans, smiling and nodding at her friends as she passed them. Neville, Arthur Weasley, and Padma Patil were checking wands for damage, while Tracey, Pamona Sprout, and George were checking members' Portkey rings to ensure they were functioning correctly. Others were transporting objects to the medical bay and crèche, while some were checking their small allotment for any potion ingredients. In many ways, Hermione preferred the camp when it was like this: busy and bustling. She just wished that it wasn't all for something potentially perilous.

"Hey, Granger!"

Hermione grinned as Blaise jogged over to her. "Everything okay, Blaise?"

"Not really. Potter put me with Anthony sodding Goldstein," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "He doesn't stop bloody talking. That's what I get for speaking up in the meeting."

"I'm sure Harry's not punishing you."

"Sure," he scoffed. "Are you heading to Luna's caravan?"

"Yes, I wanted to-"

"To talk her out of working in the medical bay tonight?"

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together and her troubled gaze drifted over to Luna's caravan. "You've already tried, haven't you?"

"Yes, but I think you should try to convince her, too. She might listen to you." He paused and tensed his jaw. "Granger, I'm really fucking worried about her. She shouldn't be working in the medical bay."

"I know," agreed Hermione quietly. "I'll try and persuade her to reconsider."

"Thank you," said Blaise stiffly, and then he quickly strode away.

Sighing to herself and hesitating for a few moments to contemplate what she would say, Hermione walked toward the caravans. A sea breeze toyed with her hair and kissed her face, and the steady hum of voices back at the farmhouse was replaced by the whispering waves. Luna's caravan was the only one with a light, a dim glow flickering in her window like a dying beacon. Hermione knocked on the door.

"Luna," she called. "It's just me. Can I come in?"

"Yes," came the quiet reply.

Luna was sat on her bed, twiddling her wand around in her fingers and staring down into her lap. Hermione had been in Luna's caravan plenty of times and, in many ways, it was similar to her own: chaotically comfortable with teetering piles of belongings, but it seemed more cluttered than usual. Since Xenophilius, Luna's father, had been killed in battle six years ago, she had decorated the walls of her living quarters with an array of photographs, mainly of her mother and father and some of her friends. It was like she'd tried to cocoon herself with happy memories. So when Hermione spotted a few pictures neglected on the floor, she frowned with concern and slowly took a seat opposite Luna on the bed.

"Are you here to tell me not to work in the medical bay tonight?" asked Luna, still keeping her eyes fixated on her lap. "Because Blaise already tried."

"I know, he told me," said Hermione. "And I'm not here to tell you to do anything, Luna. I'm just wondering if you've rushed into the decision."

"Did Blaise come and find you?"

"No, I was already on my way here. He just spotted me and asked if I was coming to see you."

She shook her head and some loose, blonde strands of hair fell across her face. "I wish he'd stop fussing over me so much."

"He's just worried about you, Luna."

"And he doesn't even know everything. Could you imagine if he did? He would mollycoddle me like some fragile child."

Hermione exhaled heavily and reached out to gently take Luna's hand. "Is that why you want to work in the medical bay? To prove you're not fragile?"

Luna closed her eyes and swallowed heavily. "I just want to feel...like myself again." She slowly lifted her head and opened her eyes, and they were a much darker grey than Hermione remembered. "I can't even cast my Patronus, Hermione."

Hermione squeezed Luna's hand. "You need to be kinder to yourself, Luna. And you need to give yourself time to heal, whether that's physically, mentally, or emotionally. They're all as equally important."

"It's been five months."

"There's no timescale for something like this, Luna, but I promise you, you will feel happiness again. I'm not saying the pain will disappear, but it will get smaller. And we will help you."

A lonely tear skimmed down Luna's cheek. "I'm sorry."

"Don't you dare ever apologise," said Hermione firmly, tugging her friend forward so she could hug her. "I love you and I am proud of you."

They embraced for a few minutes and Hermione slowly rocked Luna back and forth as she smothered a couple of sniffles into the crook of her shoulder. They had hugged like this a few times since Luna had managed to escape Malfoy Manor, Voldemort's base. Only Hermione, Ginny, and Sinistra knew of the true horror Luna had subjected to during her capture, and the latter only knew because she had attended to Luna's injuries that night. Hermione and Ginny had listened and cried and stroked Luna's hair, and Hermione sometimes wondered if they had become so close because they were motherless women in the midst of a war, or if was because they needed each other.

"Thank you," murmured Luna, pulling away and wiping her cheek with her sleeve.

"Anytime," assured Hermione.

"Can you...can you tell Blaise to come and see me before he goes, please?" she asked.

"Of course I can."

"And can you tell McGonagall that I want to go back on crèche duty. Tell her I'm sorry."

"It's no problem," replied Hermione with a reassuring smile and final squeeze of her friend's hand, getting up to leave.

"Hermione," murmured Luna, wrapping her arms around herself. "Please be careful tonight."

.

.

"Hannah?"

"Here, Hermione!"

"Parvati?"

"Here!"

"Roger?"

"Here!"

Hermione scanned the group of fifteen and checked her list again, nodding to herself when she was satisfied that her troop was all accounted for. For the past six missions, the same group had been assigned to her, although they were without Luna tonight. It had been decided several years ago that the Order would have a new Advanced Guard that would consist of the most skilled duellers, and that each member of the Advanced Guardwould oversee a small faction of the group.

Shacklebolt, Arthur, McGonagall, Fleur, Bill, George, Angelina, Blaise, Ginny, and herself made up the Advanced Guard, but as Bill and McGonagall were both remaining behind at the camp, Harry and Ron were in charge of their troops. Although neither were members of the Advanced Guard as they were repeatedly out-skilled by the others, they were both strong leaders and often stepped in to manage a troop if their regular leader was unavailable.

"Have you all had your rings checked?" Hermione asked her group and fifteen heads nodded in response. "Okay, you know how this works. Stay close together. If you see anything, alert the others and then get back here. We're not going for a fight."

"Hermione," called Harry, coming to stand at her side. "Is your group all here?"

"Yes, all here," she replied. "Is everyone else okay?"

"Seems like it. I think we're ready. It's nearly five o'clock."

Hermione desperately tried tostifle her stubborn doubts. "If you're sure, Harry."

"Are we all ready?" asked Ron, approaching the pair with Ginny beside him. "My lot are all here."

"Mine too," said Ginny. "And I just checked with the other Guards. It looks like we're good to go."

Harry nodded his head and took a few steps back. "Okay, everyone!" he yelled, so the whole group could hear. "We're leaving in two minutes, say your goodbyes!"

As they always did before any venture beyond the safety of the camp, people dispersed and sought their loved ones. Hermione reached for Ron, pulling him into hug, and then repeated the gesture with Harry and, finally, Ginny. Her eyes lingered on her friends as they moved away, Ron rushing over to Katie and mumbling a hasty "I love you" while Harry and Ginny embraced, kissing each other chastely as Ginny had never been one for public affection. Other Order members were locked in similar stolen moments of sentiment: Cho and Roger embraced, Tracey and Padma brazenly kissed like doomed teenagers in an apocalypse, Bill and Fleur pressed their foreheads together and whispered delicate affection.

Glancing around, Hermione spotted Blaise, also alone, and they shared a final morose look as people began to separate from their loved ones and return to their formations. A few appeared anxious, but the majority seemed fairly relaxed, evidently reassured by Harry's affirmations that they were not heading into battle.

"Back to your troops and get ready!" shouted Shacklebolt from the front. "Stay vigilant and safe. If anything looks remotely out of place, use your Portkey rings!"

"Spread out in your groups!" added Harry. "We meet back here in an hour!"

There was a suspended moment of tangible silence as the Guards turned back to their groups, and Hermione heard Shacklebolt prompt his to leave first, disappearing in a loud cacophony of thunderous Apparition cracks. There was a beat of stillness, and then another roar of thunder as Arthur's group followed. Hermione counted the noises, waiting for her turn at number six. As the fifth racket of cracks dissipated and Fleur's troop vanished, Hermione lifted her wand and nodded at her friends.

"Now," she instructed, and a moment later she was standing in Little Hangleton.

Completing a quick headcount to ensure everyone had made it safely, Hermione shrewdly scanned her surroundings. As planned, her troop had Apparated near the village church, and she could see the shadows of the other Order members in other parts of the village, including The Hanged Man pub and the gated drive to the Riddle House. The sparse cottages were all nestled in darkness, long abandoned when Great Britain had begun to evacuate eight years ago. Some bore the scars of previous battles with Death Eaters, such as broken windows and concave roofs, and Hermione shivered as her eyes fell on the spot where Professor Trelawney had been murdered near the graveyard.

She was about to move forward but hesitated. Her eyes flitted quickly from left to right. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

She stared hard at a tired pine tree near the church, its leafy branches reaching out for the steeple. But it was completely still. There was no movement; not a rustle or subtle flicker, and Hermione thought of the breeze that had tickled her face and stirred the trees after she and Flitwick had finished the wards back at Penlan Y Mor.

It was so quiet and still here. Too quiet and still.

"Wait," she whispered to her troops. "Don't move."

Her eyes were darting around wildly now, hunting for something out of place. And then she saw it: a sudden shift of a shadow near one of the cottages. But before she could yell out in warning there was an awful flare of familiar green light. And then, chaos erupted.

"Ambush!" screamed Hermione. "Portkey rings! Now!"

More explosions of light began to illuminate the village like violent sparks, and Apparition cracks mingled with the sounds of screaming, shouting, and heavy footsteps thumping the ground as people sprinted this way and that. Hermione was about to use her Portkey ring, but then she heard a loud, guttural scream that she instantly recognised. A man's scream. The kind of scream that ripped a hole in the night and haunted all who heard it.

She stopped reaching for her ring and frantically looked around, but then there was a blunt, brutal impact to the back of her head, and it sent her face-first to the ground. She barely had a few seconds to feel the damp grass against her cheek and the slow, warm feeling of blood trickling down her neck and behind her ear before there was another blow to her temple. And then the darkness swallowed her.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Hello! Thank you so much for all your reviews for chapter 1 and shout out to my fellow Welsh people who recognised some of the place names! Hope you’re all finding some happiness in these scary times. Chapter 12 of DWADE is almost done and should be up in a week or so.   
> Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!   
> Bex


	3. Duality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: As always, I owe a huge thank you to the wonderful Maeghan (occupymalfoysbed on tumblr) for betaing!
> 
> TW –References to rape, sexual assault and violence prevalent throughout chapter. 
> 
> Song rec for this chapter: Sia – I’m In Here

~.~

** In the Cruel Northern Mist **

~.~

Chapter 3: Duality

.

The pain.

That was the first thing she noticed. Before she even knew she was rousing, she felt the pain. Her whole head pounded with it, like the dull, echoing throb of a heartbeat. Particularly on the left side of her face, which felt double its usual size; swollen and stretched, it was like a blister ready to burst. Merlin's grave, it hurt.

The second thing she noticed was the cold floor beneath her. She was lying on her left side, and everything from her shoulder to her ankle was freezing, so much so that she was shivering slightly. The cold of the rough, slate tiles penetrated through her clothes, which were damp at her elbows and knees. But still, it was the pain ricocheting around her inflated head that she felt the most.

The third thing she noticed were the voices, and then all she felt was fear. Blood-chilling, heart-stuttering fear.

"...walked straight into our trap..."

"...that should make them unstable..."

"...they will become reckless..."

Slowly and warily, Hermione tried to peel open her eyes, but only her right eye seemed to work, and she also realised that she couldn't hear out of her left ear. Her working eye took a few moments to adjust to the darkness and blurry silhouettes, but then she knew where she was and she wished she could be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

The last time she had been at Malfoy Manor had been eight years ago when Bellatrix had ruthlessly tortured her, and despite how much she had grown since then, she felt like that same terrified girl again, desperately praying to a god she didn't believe in for a miracle. She was unsure if she was in the same room as she'd been in back then, but it was just as dark and felt just as cold. Dark walls, dark floor, dark everything, like she was trapped in a ceaseless shadow.

Scattered around the room were Death Eaters draped in their dark robes, some wearing masks, others not, and they surrounded her like a murder of crows. But it was what was in front of her that made her very soul tremble. At the far end of the room was a long table, lying across the width of the room, and sat at it were Voldemort and his six generals, three either side of his seat in the centre. On his left were Amycus Carrow, Antonin Dolohov, and Walden Macnair, and on his left sat Bellatrix Lestrange, Alecto Carrow, and Draco Malfoy.

The Order knew of the six generals and their roles within the Death Eaters after Dean Thomas' escape last year. It was rare for Voldemort himself to participate in battles, but he would always send one of his generals to oversee an attack and, judging by Macnair's dishevelled appearance, he had overseen the ambush at Little Hangleton.

No one in the room seemed to have noticed that she was awake, but Hermione could feel a mixture of blood and bile trapped in her throat. She desperately tried to stop herself from coughing it out, but it was burning now, and she retched it up, hating how the sound of her gagging echoed around the room. Silence followed as all the eyes in the room fell on her.

"It's awake," said Voldemort, his tone almost amused. "Sit her up, Fenrir."

Hermione felt a large, brutal hand grab a chunk of her hair and lift her up, pulling painfully at her scalp until she was on her knees. She hadn't thought it was possible, but the pain pulsing around her skull intensified and, despite her best efforts, she couldn't stifle the pathetic whimper that pushed past her lips. Behind her, Fenrir Greyback's feral, guttural breath plagued her neck, and she tried to stop herself from shaking. She was so, so frightened.

"And you're certain this is _that_ Mudblood, Draco?" asked Voldemort. "The Granger one?"

"It's definitely Granger," replied Draco.

Hermione shifted her eye to him, studying his relaxed shoulders and blank expression. The last time she'd seen him had been over two years ago at a battle near Newcastle. She'd noticed then how different he looked from their Hogwarts days; he'd become paler and more stern, his features sharp and severe. Carved and unflinching, like alabaster. Beside him, his Aunt Bellatrix leaned forward with a thrilled, crooked grin.

"I remember her, too," sang Bellatrix with delight. "Nice to see you again, precious."

"My, my, my," said Voldemort slowly. "What a bountiful night this has been. Well done, Fenrir. Do you have any requests for a reward?"

"Can I have her for a couple of hours?" asked Fenrir.

The connotations of his question were unmistakable— a loud, terrifying promise— and Hermione felt her spine go rigid with dread. She thought of Luna. She wondered if Fenrir had made the exact same demand about her. She wondered if Luna had felt just as petrified as she did right now. She wondered if this could break her, like it had Luna.

"Absolutely fucking not," snapped Draco, and Hermione's eye darted over to him with some bizarre emotion somewhere between hope and alarm.

"You object, Draco?" asked Voldemort, his serpentine grin stretching.

"The last time he sullied himself with one of the Order, she escaped. Not to mention that this is a Mudblood." He paused and scoffed. "It's disgusting."

Behind her, Hermione could hear Fenrir growl, but he didn't challenge Draco's argument. However, Voldemort's grin widened, baring his fang-like teeth before he released a low, dark chuckle that seemed to echo around the cold room like an awful alarm.

"As you know, Draco, I do admire your unwavering revulsion toward Mudbloods," said Voldemort. "But I can't deny Fenrir his prize for managing to get one of the Order's Advanced Guard."

"Thank you, my lord," replied Fenrir, his grip on Hermione's hair tightening.

"And I'm sure," continued Voldemort, "That he has learned from his previous mistake, haven't you, Fenrir?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Because if another Order hostage should manage to escape while in your custody, there would be...consequences."

"Of course, my lord."

"Very well," said Voldemort, clapping his hands together like a gavel. "You can have her for an hour, Fenrir, and then you can take her to the dungeons ready for Bellatrix."

"It'll be just like old times," crooned Bellatrix, waving mockingly at Hermione. "Have fun."

And then Hermione was being dragged backward by her hair, feeling a few clumps ripping away from her scalp as she frantically tried to free herself from his grip. She didn't scream. She _would not_ scream. Her legs kicked and her fingernails scratched and clawed at Fenrir's hairy, rough knuckles, but it was all futile. The herd of Death Eaters eyed her with malice and amusement as she was pulled out of the room and into a windowless corridor until Fenrir pushed her down a short staircase of about seven stairs. Her already aching head whacked against the banister on her way down, and she landed awkwardly on her arm, hearing something snap before more pain burned just below her elbow. Again, she whimpered. But she did not scream.

Fenrir's hand was snatching at her hair again, and she was tugged down another corridor for Merlin knew how long. It could have been seconds or minutes. Suddenly, she was being hurled into a room, and she rolled across the hard floor, lifting her head just as Fenrir disappeared back into the corridor and slammed the door shut, leaving her alone. With the exception of an unmade bed with stained bedding and a collapsed chest of drawers, the room was empty and had only a small embrasure window, barely three inches wide, which allowed a small sliver of barely-dawn light into the room.

Knowing that her time was limited, Hermione gritted her teeth and hauled herself to her feet, grunting as pain shot up her injured arm and pulsed around her head. A quick check of her hands and pockets revealed that they had, of course, taken her Portkey ring and her wand. Next, she began moving around the room, checking the floor, walls, and ceiling for any weaknesses or loose nails that she might be able to conceal and then jam into Fenrir when the moment presented itself. Studying the bed, she discovered even the mattress springs had been removed, and the chest of drawers had collapsed in on itself as all the screws had been removed.

Despondent, her functioning eye darted around the room again, hunting for anything she could use: a shard of glass, a sharp chip of stone, a splintered piece of wood...all those things that mothers tell their teenage daughters to use should they be abducted. But there was nothing. She knew some wandless magic— McGonagall had been teaching her— but nothing powerful enough to overwhelm Fenrir. That was that, then. She would simply have to fight.

Several minutes later, the door was shoved open and Fenrir took up the entire doorframe with his mass. Shutting the door behind him, he turned to look at her like an animal; a wolf ready to gorge on a lame rabbit. His mouth stretched into a jagged, bestial grin that made her heart falter, but she stood as tall as she could and glared back at him.

He was approaching her like a predator and she tried to duck away from him, but Fenrir grabbed her quickly by the shoulders so that she was flush against his chest, his rancid breath all over her face. She struggled and shoved and kicked, but he ripped away a chunk of her jumper and grasped her arms, digging his long nails into her biceps. Yelping as blood trickled down her arms, Hermione steeled herself and tried one final thing: she head-butted him with all the force she could muster.

It probably hurt her more than it hurt him, but she heard something crack as she smacked her forehead into the bridge of his nose, and then there was blood pouring out of his nostrils, spattering against her chin, neck, and chest in a warm, sticky stream. Yowling, Fenrir dropped her to the ground and clutched his face. Dazed and with her whole body aching, Hermione didn't have the time or energy to scramble away before he reached down and roughly picked her up by her throat. He snarled at her, his teeth bloody and bared.

"You will regret that," he hissed.

Hermione clenched her eye shut as she felt his free hand reach for her belt, but then there was a sound—a thump of some sort— and Fenrir's body seemed to jolt forward before they were both falling to the floor. He landed limply on her legs, deadweight.

Panting with fear and exertion, Hermione looked up and froze. There, standing over them, with what looked like a table leg in his hand, was Draco Malfoy. His dark eyes lingered on Fenrir's unmoving form for a few moments before they flashed over to her, and Hermione could only stare back at him in shock, trembling.

"Is that your blood, Granger?" asked Draco steadily.

She didn't respond. All she could focus on was breathing. When Draco took a step toward her and crouched down, she flinched away, but he simply pointed at her red-stained chest.

"Granger, is this yours?"

Again, she didn't reply.

"Snap the fuck out of it, Granger," he whispered harshly, snapping his fingers. "I'm not going to harm you, but we don't have time for this. Is the blood yours?"

Hermione swallowed heavily, and moved her mouth to speak. The left side of her face spasmed painfully with the effort, but she forced out a slurred and painful, "No."

"Good," he replied. "Can you walk?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then get up."

With that, he stood up and Hermione pushed Fenrir off her legs with as hard and brutal a kick as she could muster. Warily and without ever taking her eye off Draco, she awkwardly pulled herself up, sucking air in through her teeth as she tried to avoid jostling her broken arm. Draco simply watched her, not offering to help, even when she swayed and staggered a little on her wobbly legs. Adjusting herself a couple of times and correcting her balance as her head swarmed with dizziness, she anxiously looked at him as he reached down and pulled Fenrir's wand out of his back pocket.

"Here," he said, holding the wand out to her. "You need to Obliviate him."

Hermione shook her head. "I can't-"

"Yes, you can," he argued firmly, thrusting the wand into her shaking hand. "They have to think you did this. Just erase the last five minutes. You need to do it. Now."

Even with her entire body quaking and her mind muddled, she managed to aim the wand at the unconscious monster on the floor. She forced herself to concentrate and focus, mumbling _Obliviate_ and twisting the wand. It was inevitably clumsy and inelegant, but she knew her magic well, and she knew it had worked as she dropped the wand to the floor like a rancid piece of rubbish. Beside her, with folded arms and an impatient posture that vaguely reminded Hermione of McGonagall for a moment, Draco simply waited in silence, nodding his head once she had completed the task.

"Good," he said again crisply. "Right, you need to stay right behind me at all times. Do _NOT_ fall behind. Let's go."

Draco had relayed the instructions so quickly and in such a matter-of-fact tone that Hermione didn't dare ask any questions as they rushed outside and into the corridor. She followed behind him, closer than his shadow despite her unstable legs and the pain still vibrating around the majority of her body, fuelled by pure adrenaline and hope. A few times he hesitated, usually to check around a corner, and she barely managed to avoid slamming into his back. She had no idea how many corridors they traversed or how many staircases they scaled, as she was far too determined to stay as close to him as possible, but they must have been moving for at least fifteen minutes around Malfoy Manor's labyrinthine structure when they finally came to a stop in front of a seemingly mundane wall.

Hermione watched intently as Draco removed a wand from his pocket and pointed it at his palm, slicing open a small wound with magic. Voices echoed somewhere behind them and Hermione instinctively clutched his arm and leaned into his back as he pressed his hand against the wall, where the bricks glowed a muted green hue before they slowly began to dissipate, creating a narrow opening. They moved through the opening, and Hermione glanced back to see the wall had quickly returned to its former shape, concealing them in the room. A desk, bed, and a bookshelf holding a dozen books and some ornaments were the only furniture in the small space, but she thought it looked like paradise at that moment.

"A Room of Requirement?" she asked.

"Just a safe room for members of the Malfoy bloodline," he replied, heading to the desk and rummaging around in the top drawer. "Don't touch anything."

Licking her dry lips, Hermione watched him closely. "You're the one who saved Dean and Luna, aren't you?"

"Obviously."

"Why are you helping us?"

"Brightest witch of your age, Granger," he said stoically. "I'm sure you can figure it out."

"So, you're on our side?"

His shoulders stiffened at her question. "I need to get you out of here before-"

"Are you on our side?" she repeated.

He exhaled heavily before he lifted his sullen, steel-grey eyes to her. "Right now, I'm trying to help you. That's all you need to know."

"You're going to Obliviate me, aren't you?"

"Granger," he groaned, still rummaging in the drawer. "For once, could you stop your incessant questions?"

"But you are, aren't you?"

"Of course I am."

"But why?" she asked, walking toward him. "We could help each other. We...we could stop the war-"

He scoffed and shook his head. "Don't be so naive, Granger. We don't have time for this bollocks."

"I've been working on finding the three missing Horcruxes and I've got some good information. You must know things about them that could help."

"Granger-"

"You do, don't you?" she pressed. "We could-"

"Enough!" he snapped harshly, finally removing a small object — a thimble — from the drawer. "I'm helping you escape. Be satisfied with that."

"No. No, I will not be satisfied until it's over. We could do more-"

"Take this," he said, pushing the wand he had used to cut his palm into her hand. "They destroyed your wand." He held up the thimble for her to see. "This is a Portkey. After I Obliviate you, I'll put the Portkey in your hand and it will take you to the outskirts of Wiltshire, and then you can Apparate back to your camp."

"Draco, we could stop all this," she persisted. "If we worked together, we could-"

"We could what, Granger?" he retorted. "Save the world? Don't be so fucking ridiculous."

"So what, you're just going to keep saving Order members until you grow old?"

"It's something-"

"It is, and I'm grateful," she said, reaching for his arm again, but he shrugged her off. "But you could do so much more. _We_ could do so much more."

"Enough now," he said, his tone slightly softer than before. "Enough, Granger."

Raising his wand with a steady and unwavering arm, he pointed it at her head, the tip barely an inch away, and Hermione stilled, frowning sadly at him but refusing to break eye contact.

"For what it's worth," she muttered quietly. "I always had a feeling you weren't evil."

Something flickered in his eyes, like a flash of lightning in a storm. "Not evil, Granger," he whispered back. "But bad enough."

"No, I think you're...decent. And even if I don't remember saying that, I want you to remember that I did."

The harsh, unflinching contours of his expression relaxed for a moment, like melting ice. His resolved stance seemed to falter, and she took advantage of his hesitation, raising her hand to his wrist and giving it a slight squeeze before she pushed down the hand holding his wand, feeling only a little resistance as she did so.

"Please," she breathed. "If I was the brightest witch in Hogwarts, you were the brightest wizard. We can do this. Maybe _only_ we can."

Hermione watched the muscles of his jaw clench with frustration, but then he completely dropped his wand arm to his side, an agitated sigh pushing through the gaps on his gritted teeth. His eyes dropped to the floor for a moment and he lifted his other hand to rake his fingers through his moon-white hair. When he looked back up, his eyes were narrowed and fiercer, fixing her with a penetrative ferocity that roused goosebumps on her arms.

"Swear to me that you won't tell anyone in the Order about me," he demanded harshly. "You swear that to me right now, Granger."

"I swear," she promised quickly. "I swear on my life."

"Good, because if you do, I will kill you myself," he said darkly, and she believed him. "Let's just see how bright you really are. If you can figure out a way for us to communicate without being detected, then we'll take it from there. You have a week."

"Okay...okay, I'll figure something out. I have books on-"

"I'm sure you do," he interjected, holding the thimble close to her hand. "You need to leave now."

"Okay, I'm ready," she said, clutching her injured arm close to her body to prepare for the Portkey's pull. "Thank you. For everything."

"One week, Granger," he repeated, taking a step forward so he could tower over her. "And remember: you don't tell a soul about this or it will be the last promise you break."

And with that, he pressed the thimble into her hand.

.

* * *

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Hello lovelies! Thank you so much for your lovely comments on this so far. I was actually happy with a chapter for a change, so hopefully you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I’m actually feeling pretty good about this fic and will do my best to keep updating it regularly.   
> Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!   
> Bex

**Author's Note:**

> A/n: I’ve started another one...I just couldn’t help myself and the plunny was too persistent to ignore! DWADE is not abandoned, and thank you for all your reviews on that! I hope I’ve intrigued you with this first chapter! Let me know what you think! Read and review and all that jazz!  
> Bex


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